


Festivities

by Nixiesaurus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixiesaurus/pseuds/Nixiesaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian receives a present on Christmas Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Festivities

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for yestheladylaudanum for the MorMor Secret Santa. The first chapter is setting things up (basically, the secret santa gift) and the second chapter is purely smut (basically, for myself). Enjoy!

Silence consumed the home, as it always did.  Sebastian's gaze was fixed downward, at a small box in his hands.  He'd wondered where the box came from, as it had been hand-delivered by some young Cockney-drawling boy.  It was a small box, though, the names read:

_To: Sebastian_

_From: Jim_

_Merry Christmas_

It was strange, to have a box like that.  Moran, in his first assumption, had simply thought the box to be something he purchased from himself, and aptly labeled.  He must have been high at the time, he thought, because he didn't recall the box, or the label.  He had to have self-addressed it, because no one else would dare pull such a joke on Moran.

After all, he thought, Jim had been dead for three years.

Perhaps, he wondered, it was some cruel joke.  Maybe someone from the web, or even an enemy, had pulled the prank on the old Colonel.  Someone, possibly, wanted to see Sebastian suffer.  Wanted to see him teeter over the edge of sanity, finally succumbing to the madness that so often encircled his mind.

Shaking the box, there was a dull rattle to it, barely audible.  A bullet?  Possibly.  Maybe someone wanted him dead, and this was simply a means of letting the tiger know it.

The box was small, wide enough to fit between Sebastian's thumb and middle finger.  Emerald green with a red ribbon, it was lightweight, and once again, it rattled as he shook it.  The sound was unfamiliar.

Sitting in a chair in the parlor, Moran's other hand held a cigarette, burning cherry-red at the tip and leaving a grey tail in the air above it.  Sinking back to sit in his chair a bit more comfortably, the blond squinted his eyes, and pushed the cigarette between his lips, sucking from it as he took to opening the box.

Pulling the red ribbon by its end, the whole length came unraveled and fell into the tiger's lap.  Frowning, Sebastian turned the box over in his hands, inspecting it for any flaws, for any hint as to what it contained.  Glancing up towards the window, he stared out for a moment at the snow that fell, piling up on the outer windowsill.  

"Merry Christmas to me," he muttered around his cigarette, ashes dropping onto his leather jacket as he spoke.  Pulling the lid from the box, he discarded it, and turned the box over in his hand.  

From it, fell into his palm a simple plastic card.  It was white, with a simple reading of "Langham" across the top of it in elegant red lettering.  On the back, a black magnetic card-reading strip. 

A hotel room key.

Moran furrowed his brow again, and turned the card over in his hand.  On the back, written in black marker, was a simple  _306._ The room number?  Sebastian tilted his head, and stood up from where he sat.  Letting loose the cigarette into the black ashtray, he shrugged his coat on tighter and slipped on a pair of gloves. _  
_

One short car ride later, with Moran's pep-talk keeping him company ( _'This is fucking stupid.  It's a set-up.  A trap.  Of course I'm going to fall for it. You foolish son of a bitch...'_ ), the man arrived at the Langham Hotel,  _the_  premier luxury accommodations in London.

Inside, the foyer smelled of roses.  White ones, to be exact, decorated the center of the large, open area.  Above it, a clear chandelier.  Just the sort of place Jim had brought the tiger to on many occasions, for dinner at The Roux or tea at The Palm Court.

Without a word to the concierge (as though the concierge would even  _speak_ to someone who wore a leather jacket, with scars decorating his face), Moran walked forward and to the hotel elevator, where he waited for the doors to open.  Once inside, level 3 was the goal, and with a ding, he arrived.

Walking down the hallway towards room 306, Sebastian reached underneath his left armpit, where he kept a glock, ready for anything.  It had to be a set-up, he'd decided.  With the gun in one hand, and the plastic key card in the other, he slipped the card into the slot.

With a green blinking light and a click, the door opened.

Stepping inside, Sebastian squinted.  It was dark, except for one lamp in the corner of the room.  Seated under the lamp, in a luxurious armchair, was a head of sleek black hair.  Pale skin, and a black suit, the red tie the man wore nearly glowed from the brightness of it.

"You took longer than I expected," the Irish voice lulled out.

"You're dead," Sebastian immediately stammered, his voice breaking in ways only his mind was familiar with.

"It's a Christmas miracle," Jim said, standing up from the chair.  The man looked gaunt, thin.  His hair was in place, but dark circles painted beneath his eyes.  He walked slowly over to Sebastian, and stuck his hands in his pockets.  Jutting a hip, Jim rocked back and forth on his heels, eyeing the tiger.

After receiving no response from Sebastian, Jim wrinkled his nose.  "You look like shit," he said, eyeballing the sniper-turned-spider.

"I could say the same for you," Sebastian said, and in a sudden move, reached out, grabbing the lapels of Jim's suit.  It was as if, the entire time, Moran hadn't believed that Jim was really there.  Of course, in the past, he'd had hallucinations about Jim returning.  But this?   The material was warm under his fingertips, the thread genuine.  The sniper swallowed thickly, and shook his head.

"You're really here," he said.

"I am," Jim chirped.

"And I'm not high," Sebastian whispered.

"You had better not be.  I told you to stay away from that shit, Tiger," Jim responded, letting the calloused grip of the sniper feel of the front of his coat.  He allowed Moran's fingers to trace the buttons of his suit, to dance over the fine fabric of his tie.  He allowed this, because he knew the sniper needed it.  That he needed to know that Jim was -

"Alive."  Sebastian felt his knees weaken.  By the lapels, he jerked Jim forward, and crashed their mouths together in a riptide of need.  Stepping inside, the door shut behind him, the automatic lock clicking in the quiet room.  By the time the kiss had  broken, Sebastian was breathless.

"Very much so," Jim repeated.  He'd kissed back with a certain amount of fervor, marasmus had taken over his frame, and he craved his tiger's touch once more.  But then came the shaking.  By the same lapels that he'd been drawn into the kiss with, Sebastian also gripped to shake Jim nearly senseless.

"You son of a  _fucking_ bitch!" Moran yelled, suddenly, as though he had been snapped out of some sort of haze, "How could you?  For three  _fucking_ years, you've been gone!  Not a word, not a whisper, not even a whiff of your cologne!" 

And now, Jim thought, he had his tiger back.  The glaze that had appeared over Sebastian's eyes that gave them that glossy, distant look, had cleared away.  Now, Moran trembled as he grasped Jim's lapels, shaking him, still, hard enough to loosen his tie tip from his belt.  James' hands drew up, and grasped Moran's shoulders sternly, gripping them to try and thwart the tiger's incessant shaking.  "It's none of -- your concern  _why_ ," Jim said, "It's only  -- pertinent that I've -- returned.  Now -- if you'll kindly -- stop shaking me!" _  
_

The shaking turned into a shove, and Jim fell back onto the bed.  Staring at the ceiling, he blinked a few times, before sitting up on his elbows and staring with furrowed brows at his Tiger.

"I missed you," Sebastian smirked, as he crawled over Jim's frame.


End file.
